


Blind Spots

by gwyllgi



Series: Blind Spots [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Substance Abuse Recovery, F/M, Illustrated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 11:56:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4136574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyllgi/pseuds/gwyllgi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cullen accepts a position as a therapist at a substance abuse treatment center, he expects... well, he doesn't know what he expects, except that it isn't to meet a woman who reminds him of everything he's been missing.  <i>It wasn't how he'd intended to return to Honnleath—but, then, when had his life ever gone as he'd planned?</i></p><p>(Now with bonus illustration (NSFW) in chapter 11!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a meeting.

It wasn't how he'd intended to return to Honnleath—but, then, when had his life ever gone as he'd planned?

It was a bit overwhelming, the reality of the end of years of study and a shiny new certification, and Cullen could feel his head spinning as he followed Dr. Amell—"Call me Solana."—out of her office. By the time they'd made their way out of the administrative building and onto the grounds proper of the Hope for Tomorrow campus, though, he was able to focus more on her words and less on his nerves, and found her to be an entertaining tour guide who peppered the tour with anecdotes and wry humor that reminded him of his eldest sister.

He was unable to keep from admiring the facility as they walked; nestled in the hills outside of Honnleath, its twenty acres were filled with a variety of buildings—hopefully he'd remember which she pointed out for each purpose—and recreational areas. Patients were scattered across the area, engaged in everything from quietly staring at the sky to what appeared to be a rousing game of volleyball; it was easy to forget the troubles that had brought them there, to view it as a simple retreat.

Solana stopped often to introduce him to passing staff or discuss areas of particular interest, and the hour they'd planned for came and went well before they'd completed the tour. Cullen's nerves had long since settled, and he was chuckling at a story about the time the center's intake coordinator got treed by a deer when something large hit his shoulders and pushed to plant him face-first in the grass. A cold, wet nose snuffled through his hair as he struggled to dislodge the weight pinning him.

"Oh, Maker—I'm so sorry! Beowoof, that was very inappropriate. Let the poor man up."

The weight left his back and Cullen levered himself off the ground, plucking a few blades of grass from his mouth as he turned to find a woman shaking her finger at a mabari whose backside was wiggling furiously despite the sorrowful set of its ears.

"Dr. Rutherford, this is Evelyn Trevelyan, our animal-assisted therapist."

The woman—Evelyn—must've noticed the reflexive quirk of his eyebrow, as she smiled, red lips curved in a wry line. "It's a family name. Most people just call me Evie." She extended her hand, shaking his with a firm grip when he clasped it. "You've already met Beowoof." She released Cullen's hand to scratch behind the mabari's ear. "Apologize to Dr. Rutherford, Woof."

"That's not nec—" Cullen began, but cut off when Beowoof nudged his hand, then held up a paw. Bemused, Cullen shook it as well, then patted his broad head. "No harm done. And Cullen is fine. My name, I mean. Not Dr. Rutherford." Maker, did he always have to stutter around attractive women?

"Cullen," she repeated, and her low voice lit something warm in his belly. "Solana, could you let me know when you have a moment? I have an idea I'd like to discuss."

"Of course. Shall we, Dr. Rutherford?" Solana tilted her head toward the path. "We're almost done, then you can settle in."

"Oh, yes." Cullen took a step, then turned back. "It was a pleasure, Evie."

"I'll see you around, Cullen," Evie said and gave a small wave, then left in the opposite direction as Beowoof trotted at her side.

Solana's delicate throat-clearing made Cullen flush, and when he faced her he found a knowing smile on her lips. "Staff housing isn't segregated, by the way; we share living spaces, so we get to know each other quite well."

"That's good to know," he said helplessly, and ignored her little laugh as they resumed the tour. She and Mia would definitely get along, he decided—a strangely comforting thought, familiarity in the new. Now, if only his cheeks would stop burning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an encounter.

"They seem to get along well," Josie said as she took her points, kind enough to not mention just how far ahead she was.

Evie looked from her horrible position on the cribbage board to watch their newest LPN as he played with Beowoof. Cole was a quiet young man, but hands-down the most empathetic person she'd ever met; they were lucky to have found him. "They do," she agreed, then laughed lightly. "I think he's the only staff member Woof's never tackled, actually—he's probably a wizard."

Next to Josie, Cassandra made a disgusted noise. "It's fortunate that dog knows better than to pull that with a patient." She pushed away from the table at which they sat and rose. "I'm going for a run. Want me to take him?"

"Give me a few minutes and I'll come with you. Josie's got me beat already—any more is just insult to injury." Evie dropped her cards onto the unplayed deck as Josie giggled, and joined Cassandra as she headed for the door that led from the common room to the stairs to their rooms.

They jogged up the stairs and split at the top to find their own rooms. It was a quick process to strip out of her casual clothes and pull on something better suited to exercise, and she absently pulled her hair back into a high ponytail as she left. She was twisting the last loop of elastic around it when she hit the stairs—and very nearly the man coming up them.

"Oh," he said, then, "Excuse me, Evie. I didn't see you there."

"No, I'm sorry—I wasn't paying attention." She smiled and moved aside to let Cullen pass. "Are you settling in?"

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze flicking to the floor. "It's different than what I'm used to, I have to admit. I'll be fine, though." He glanced at her shoes, then his gaze drifted slowly up her body before he flushed and jerked it to a side. "You're going out?"

It had been a while since she'd been so thoroughly checked out, and she fought a smile; his red face was so disarmingly charming that she couldn't even be upset about the ogling. "For a run with Cassandra—our senior fitness instructor." She was unable to rein in a saucy grin as she let her eyes run blatantly over him; he was solid without being bulky, a physique he obviously worked for but wasn't ruled by. Nice, even in slacks and a button-down shirt. She wondered how he'd look in gym clothes, damp with sweat and rumpled and— No, that was a thought better done without. "You're welcome to join us—though Woof comes along."

Cullen chuckled. "Thanks, but I'll pass." He met her eyes, and his faint smile was far lovelier than it had any right being; the scar at his lip only served to emphasize its soft curve. "Ask me next time, though."

"Deal." She met his smile with her own, then slipped past him to trot down the stairs. No doubt Cassandra was wondering where she was, and she hurried back to the common room to collect Beowoof before heading outside. Sure enough, Cassandra was there, stretching with her back to the door. "Sorry I'm late," Evie said as she started her own stretches. "I ran into Cullen on the stairs."

Cassandra turned with a frown that cleared after a moment. "Ah, our newest counselor. What do you think of him?"

"He seems..." Evie vacillated for a moment as she stretched, finally settled on, "nice." When Cassandra's eyebrow arched, she added, "We haven't spoken much yet."

A corner of Cassandra's mouth twitched. "Yet you're on a first-name basis already."

"It's what he asked to be called." She pouted when Cassandra's lips twitched again. "Solana was there. Ask her."

Cassandra shook her head, amusement rather than dismissal to judge by the wicked gleam in her eyes. "I believe you. Let's go."

Evie chased after Cassandra, conceding the point as she ran; she might be fit, but Cassandra was a machine, and conversation during a run with her was an exercise in breathless futility. As Beowoof gamboled ahead of them, she wondered what it would be like if it was Cullen she was chasing—long legs and broad shoulders ahead of her, hair beginning to show the natural curl she suspected was under his styling as sweat dampened it, running shorts hugging just the right— No, she told herself again. No inappropriate thoughts about coworkers, no matter how attractive they are.

Those fantasies about their chief orderly didn't count; everyone wanted to ride the bull.

Maker's breath, maybe it was time for a trip into Redcliffe the next time she had more than a day off, in the hopes that a night of dancing would dispel the apparent pent-up tensions that were dragging her mind back to the way Cullen's fingers had curled at the back of his neck and the urge to replace them with her own, find out if his hair was as soft as it looked, maybe drag him closer to—

No. She was a grown woman who could manage her damned hormones. She didn't need to become infatuated, not when they'd be seeing plenty of each other in a professional capacity, not when things could all too easily turn awkward.

With resolve in her heart, she focused on the endorphins of the run and the pounding of her feet against the path until there was no more room for thoughts of anything else.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is backstory.

Cullen dropped his head to his desk and stifled a groan. He'd known he wasn't accepting an easy job. He'd studied substance abuse therapy for years, was certified by every damned agency even remotely related to it, but the reality of a residential facility was surprisingly far removed from his experience. He was giving his patients no less than his best, knew that he had the skills to help them, but still felt like he was playing catch-up in a race he couldn't win.

A knock sounded at his door, and he lifted his head to rub his forehead. "It's open," he called, grateful when he didn't sound as tired as he felt.

Evie appeared as the door opened, slid into the office with a smile that faded as she looked him over. "Everything OK?" she asked, head cocked as she crossed to stand before Cullen's desk. She leaned over to gently poke at his forehead. "You've got a mark, here."

Cullen rubbed his forehead, then slid his hand to the back of his neck. "I'll live." He smiled wryly. "I expected a learning curve; I can't complain about it now. Where's Woof?"

Evie narrowed her eyes, no doubt completely aware of his transparent change of subject, but she didn't press him on it. "He's having a nap. Do you mind if I...?" She gestured to one of his office chairs and, when he nodded, settled into it. "I was hoping to discuss treatment plans, actually."

He reached for a notepad and pen, pulled them into his lap as he settled back in his chair. "Not a visit for pleasure, then."

"I wouldn't say that."

Cullen looked up from the paper to find Evie smiling broadly at him. He could feel his cheeks flaming again and cursed in his head; she must think him some choir boy who'd never interacted with a woman before. He wasn't an old hand at dating, admittedly—work and study had consumed him for years, at the expense of his social life—but he was hardly a monk, had taken no vows of celibacy. He'd had his share of lovers, enough that he shouldn't be stumbling over himself like an awkward teenager just because a pretty girl smiled at him.

Her smile faltered. "I'm sorry," she said, and he realized he'd been staring. "I didn't mean... that is, perhaps we should move on."

"We should," he agreed.

He didn't know why he was surprised by how easy it was to converse with her. She was knowledgeable and quick, full of insights and suggestions. Even discussing treatment, she displayed a dry sense of humor, and he played off of it, returned her fleeting smiles. While they discussed patient care, it wasn't difficult to focus on her as another coworker, to set aside any nagging attraction. As they finished, though, he found himself noticing things again: the way she would daintily tuck the loose waves of hair framing her face behind her ear; the sweep of her lashes when she lowered her eyes; the warmth in her voice when she spoke about their patients.

"Thank you for your time, Cullen," she said when the last file was closed. "I look forward to working with you." Her smile softened the curt words, and her hands found the arms of her chair, an obvious prelude to her departure.

"You're a Marcher, aren't you?" he asked.

Evie's brow furrowed, but she nodded. "I am—Ostwick. The vowels gave it away, didn't they?"

Cullen chuckled. "I spent time in Kirkwall, got good at picking the accents out. How did you end up in Ferelden?"

"My parents felt I was a little... rambunctious, so they sent me to a Chantry boarding school in Haven." She smiled self-deprecatingly. "By the time I graduated, I'd spent more time in Ferelden than Ostwick, so I stayed on."

"And Woof? It's unusual to see a mabari with someone who's not Fereldan."

"Woof." Evie's eyes lit up, and Cullen found himself leaning forward to bask in it; it took effort to push his shoulders back to his chair. "The sisters and I didn't really see eye to eye, and I ran away several times. The last time, I hitchhiked as far as Lothering and got stranded." She laughed, a soft, warm sound. "I was lucky, though; I happened to bump into a man whose family ran a farm on the outskirts of the village, and he offered me lodging until I figured out what I wanted to do. The Hawkes were good people—Malcolm's wife was from Kirkwall, so it was a little like finding someone from home, and they had a daughter around my age."

"The Hawkes? Was the daughter Bethany?" When Evie blinked in surprise, Cullen explained, "I knew the family in Kirkwall."

Evie shook her head with a smile. "What a small world! If you knew them, you must have known Bastard. Woof is his full brother. Malcolm had been in town to pick up puppies for the boys, but Woof had imprinted on me by the time we made it back to the farm. I thought he'd be mad, but Malcolm just laughed, said the only thing more stubborn than a mabari was Leandra, and told me I'd better take good care of him."

"That was lucky," Cullen said, then found himself returning Evie's smile as she nodded. They lapsed into silence, yet it wasn't awkward. He was sure they'd look foolish if anyone walked in on them, smiling at each other like loons, but he couldn't bring himself to care, not while he was noticing the blue of her eyes, the way one corner of her smile lifted higher than the other, the brush of her hair against her cheek.

Slowly, their smiles fell away, though their gazes remained locked. Cullen found himself holding his breath as he leaned forward. Evie did the same, angled toward him before she abruptly blinked and sat back, then rose. "I should go," she said, and was out of his office before he could protest.

Cullen was left short of breath and inexplicably disappointed. It was... strange; he'd never been good at gauging romantic interest, though he was fairly sure he wasn't just misreading, projecting his own attraction, that she might actually be interested in something more than a professional friendship.

If he dwelled a while on curved red lips and soft blue eyes as he returned to his work, well, it was of no concern to anyone but him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is doubt.

Evie absently chewed her chicken salad sandwich as she turned things over in her mind. It wasn't her imagination, was it? The flirting, the lingering looks, the private smiles? It had been weeks, and she still didn't know what to make of Dr. Cullen Rutherford.

A cup of tea was set next to her elbow, and she smiled in gratitude at the source of her turmoil. Cullen returned it as he dropped into the chair next to her. Faint lines of strain bracketed his mouth, and she considered him over the rim of the teacup.

"I hope you don't mind if I skip our run tonight," he said, and his fingers tightened around his own cup.

The question teased the tip of her tongue, but she pushed it down. "Not at all," she said instead. "Woof will miss you, though."

Cullen's fleeting smile was tight, but relieved. "I'll make it up to him next time."

"No more treats—you'll spoil him." She contemplated her sandwich, picked out a chunk of celery as she frowned. "I'll miss you, too," she added, gaze fixed on the crumbs scattered over her plate.

"I'll be back tomorrow." Uncomfortable silence settled between them, until Cullen lifted his teacup and finished off its contents, then pushed away from the table. "Well, then, I should be going."

Evie tightened her grip on her teacup to avoid reaching for his hand; his distress was apparent, and the urge to help assuage it was nearly overwhelming. "Take care," she said instead, and smiled, though she could feel that it was weak.

"Evie," he began, then shook his head. "I'll see you when I get back."

She watched his broad shoulders, uncharacteristically drooped, as he made his way to the door of their small dining hall. He paused there, and for a moment she thought he'd turn back, but then he walked through it and disappeared from view.

Was it just concern for a coworker that had her wanting to chase after him and find out what she could do to help? She would do the same for any of the others, wouldn't she?

With a sigh, she pushed her plate away and rose. It took only a moment to dump the rest of her sandwich and drop her plate into the dishwasher, and then she was heading outside; the confines of the staff hall were suddenly oppressive. The fresh air revived her, and Woof snuffled at her hand when he greeted her at the door. She absently patted his broad head, ran her fingers through his ruff.

"If he wants me to know, he'll tell me, right?" she asked, and Woof cocked his head as he looked up at her. "It's not my place to press." Woof whuffled what she took as his agreement, and she booped his nose gently, smiled when he faked a sneeze. "We'll be here when he wants us."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is lingering.

Cullen plowed his fingers through his hair, knotted them in the curls he hadn't bothered to tame. He dealt with recovering addicts daily, worked hard to help them find their feet and restore their lives. He'd seen the effects of tranquility and blight and lyrium, knew how they impacted their users and those around them, but had apparently developed a blind spot when it came to his own loved ones.

He'd known that lyrium usage in the templar order was still common, but he hadn't realized that his little brother had fallen into the habit. When their mother had called Cullen to come home, told him that Branson was in trouble, he hadn't known what to expect; she'd been reticent on the phone, and he'd spent the drive into Honnleath fretting. To find Branson well into the initial effects of lyrium withdrawal was a shock, and for a long moment Cullen hadn't known what to do, had simply stood there staring at his sweating, delirious brother while his mother wrung her hands next to him.

Eventually, he'd managed to get himself moving, helped his mother clean Branson up and put together the necessities to help him through the detoxification process. While Branson slept restlessly, Cullen sat his parents down and walked them through the best way to help Branson with his recovery. They were no professionals, but Branson had refused to go to Cullen for help; no doubt he'd be angry were he to know that Cullen was there at all. It stung, but he reminded himself that it wasn't about him, that all that mattered was his little brother's recovery.

He'd left the next morning with admonishments to call him immediately if anything changed, if they had any questions at all. The drive back to the center was short, but still long enough for him to regret leaving and nearly turn around half a dozen times, and his fingers were cramped from the tight clasp he'd kept on the wheel by the time he pulled into the center's staff parking.

That was how he found himself still sitting in his car, hands all but fisted in his hair as he wondered what he'd missed. It had been some time since he'd seen his brother—not since he'd completed his vigil. If he'd kept in touch better, not been so wrapped up in his own concerns, could he have helped? Could he have kept Branson away from lyrium, somehow protected him from its prolific use within the order?

He startled when someone knocked on the window, and turned his head to find Evie and Woof there, expressions concerned. He loosened his fingers from his hair, dropped them to unbuckle his seatbelt, then opened the door and staggered to his feet as he blinked in the bright sunlight.

It was a moment before he realized that Evie had reached for him, her concerned expression melted into one of alarm as she supported him with a hand at his shoulder, the other at his waist. "Sorry," he managed, even as he found himself clutching her, holding her elbow and hip. "It was a long night. I'm OK."

Evie's lips compressed, but she didn't call him on his blatant falsehood. Instead, she slid to drag his arm over her shoulders and wrap hers around his waist. "I know your morning is open. Why don't we get you back to the hall so you can get some rest?" She looked at Woof who'd taken up position at Cullen's other side, then met Cullen's eyes again. "Don't try to sell that 'OK' business with me, either. I know bullshit when I hear it."

He couldn't help the smile, faint though he knew it was. "Can't get one over on you, can I?" Somehow, one arm around her shoulders turned into two, and his face was buried in her hair before he recognized the urge. An apology rose to his lips, but died there when Evie turned into the embrace and tightened her arms around him. It was almost too tight, but he couldn't bring himself to loosen his hold, much less release it. He breathed in the scent of her shampoo—faintly floral, quite pleasant—and nuzzled her ear, slid his nose through the soft strands of her hair to brush over her skin.

"Cullen," Evie said, her voice high and tight, a hint of a question at the end. Her arms relaxed slightly and Cullen tightened his.

"Just a little longer," he murmured against her ear, felt her whole body shudder in response. "Evie..."

She made a small sound—almost a squeak—and turned her head. The tip of Cullen's nose slid over her cheek before she pulled back, and then it was Cullen's turn to make a noise, a huff of protest as he shifted his hold on her. One hand slid down, followed the line of her spine to the small of her back, while the other rose, slid into her hair to weave his fingers through the strands.

"Evie," he said again, plaintive and hoarse. She held herself tense but made no attempt to escape, rather she was poised like a startled doe, uncertain of how to react. When his lips replaced his nose against her cheek, trailing a soft line over her cheekbone, she shuddered again, sagged, then surged into his embrace.

Her lips were warm—so warm—against his, their pucker full and soft. He turned fully into the kiss, pressed his lips firmly against hers until the contact broke, drew away only to rein her in again with another kiss, then another. Woof's excited barking was barely heard as they kissed, little more than background noise.

It was only when Cullen fisted his hand in the back of Evie's shirt and pulled it from her skirt to brush his fingers over the smooth skin of her back that they came to their senses and broke apart. Evie looked rumpled, swollen lips and tousled hair and clothes askew, and Cullen admired the sight even as he reached to smooth her hair.

"I'm sorry, that was..." He trailed off, not knowing how to continue. It hadn't been a mistake, hadn't been the effects of his lack of sleep the prior night, and the thought to offer either lie to smooth over things curdled his blood. He licked his lips—could he still taste her or was that wishful thinking?—and tried again. "That was nice."

Evie's smile was a relief, though she didn't meet his gaze as she tucked in her shirt and replaced his hand with her own to finger comb the worst of the tousling. "It was," she agreed quietly, then reached to pet Woof, who wiggled enthusiastically at her side. "We should... we should be going. Go get some rest, yes?"

"I will. Evie?" When she turned, he gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable."

She blinked and looked up with wide eyes, then laughed. "Oh, Cullen, you have. Quite. But it's not awkward. Perhaps more distracting?" She smiled again, much more broadly than the last. "I don't regret it," she said, then cupped her hand at the nape of his neck and pulled him down to tease her lips against his, feather-light and fleeting. "I hope you don't either."

"I couldn't possibly." He thought for a moment that she'd kiss him again, and told himself he wasn't disappointed when she only squeezed his nape and pulled her hand away. "I'll see you at dinner."

Evie nodded, then turned and headed in the direction of the boat house the staff used more for general storage than anything nautical—no doubt her destination before he'd sidetracked her. He couldn't help but admire her: the soft fall of her hair, just long enough to brush her shoulder blades; the way her full skirt—a departure from her workday slacks—flowed around her legs as she walked; the wrinkles at the back of her shirt where he'd gripped it tightly enough to crease. Even the way she teased and played with Woof as they walked was a show he couldn't pull his eyes away from.

Maker, he had it bad.

He didn't remember making his way back to the staff hall, had no memory of stripping down to crawl into bed for a few precious hours of sleep. The only memory that mattered was soft blue eyes over an even softer smile, all for him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Evie meets the family.

"Next Thursday, then?"

Evie nodded. "Thursday it is."

Cullen smiled—Maker, he was pretty, even sweaty after a long run—and swiped his wrist across his brow. "Excellent. I'm sure Branson will be happy to meet Woof, and my parents will love you."

Evie felt herself flush and hoped that Cullen would pass it off as due to their recent exertion. It sounded too intimate: meeting the parents. They'd only kissed the once, something neither of them had spoken of again as Solace turned into August. They'd fallen back into their old routine, meeting regularly for meals and runs—usually with other staff members, but rarely separate—yet something was different. Now, when she admired the curve of Cullen's mouth, she didn't have to wonder what it would feel like against her own. She knew the strength in his hands when he rubbed Woof's belly. She could recall clearly the smooth slide of his hair against her hand, the warmth of his skin, the gentleness he displayed so easily.

One kiss didn't make them a couple, but it was hard to avoid imagining it—again—when he announced that he intended for her to meet his family.

"I hope so," she said. "Should I bring anything?"

Cullen chuckled, and a lick of heat seared her belly at the low sound. "You're doing all of us a favor; you need only bring Woof and yourself."

"All right," she managed, then smiled. "We'll do our best to not embarrass you."

Cullen shook his head and reached over to flip the end of her ponytail between his fingers. "It's not you I'm worried about."

So it was that Evie found herself settled in the front seat of Cullen's car just under a week later, Woof strapped securely in the back. She couldn't even be nervous anymore; she'd fretted herself out of enough hours of sleep that her nerves had worn down and left behind resignation. Cullen was silent as he drove, though his fingers tapped an uneven rhythm on the wheel. After only a few minutes, she reached to curl her fingers over his to still them.

His fingers flexed beneath hers but stopped drumming, and Cullen gave her a strained smile. "Sorry." He paused, then continued, "I hope you like them."

Evie returned his smile. "I'm sure your family is lovely. Be glad they're not mine."

"You're not on good terms?"

Evie hummed and folded her hands in her lap as she considered. "It's not that so much as... I'm the black sheep, if you will. I was supposed to go into the Chantry and live a quiet, respectable life of contemplation out of the public eye." She shook her head. "They're a bit pompous, clinging to their title. We'd be standing on ceremony for hours if we visited."

"I'd still like to meet them someday," Cullen said quietly, and there was that lick of heat again. How could he do that to her so easily, without even seeming to realize he was doing it?

"Maybe, someday." Woof huffed in the backseat and she twisted to scratch his neck, dug her fingers into his ruff. "I haven't seen them since my graduation. I'm not sure we'd even recognize each other these days." She shook her head again, less negation than to simply clear it. "But never mind that. I'm looking forward to meeting more Rutherfords."

Cullen smiled at her again, and they lapsed back into silence for the remainder of the drive. They passed through Honnleath, past the statue at the center of town that Cullen explained was purported to be a legendary golem, and were soon turning onto the long, private drive of what looked to be a good-sized farm.

"Maker's breath," she heard Cullen mutter as they parked next to a minivan, "what's she doing here?" But there was no time to question him before the front door of the house opened and people boiled out.

Her nerves made a comeback as she unbuckled her seatbelt and slid from the car, then opened the back to free Woof from his harness and let him jump out. He had none of her reservations and frantically wiggled his backside as he quivered beside her, waiting for the signal that it was OK to introduce himself.

"It's fine," Cullen called over the car, and she looked up to find him wearing a commiserative smile. "Let him go."

Evie wasn't so sure, but mentally shrugged and gestured Woof away. He shot toward the group like a loosed arrow, and soon enough the delighted shrieks of children filled the air as the adults left them behind to Woof's tender mercies. It was easy to see Cullen in the faces of the three people who approached her, and she relaxed minutely.

"Mom, Dad." Cullen smoothly moved in front of her as they closed the distance between them. "Mia. I wasn't expecting you."

"When Mom said you were coming with your new girlfriend, how could I resist?" Mia shared Cullen's blond curls and amber eyes, but her smile held an impishness that Evie had never seen in Cullen's. That was the smile of an overbearing older sister, if a loving one.

"We work together, Mia," Cullen said with a hint of exasperation, but no real heat. "Evie's here as a friend. _Just_ a friend." When Mia opened her mouth again, Cullen blatantly cut her off. "But let me introduce you properly. Mom, Dad, this is Evie. Evie, this is my mother, Cora, and my father, Bennett." He cut a good-natured glare at Mia. "My sister needs no introduction."

Evie held out her hand to each in turn. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rutherford, Mrs. Rutherford." She lingered over Mia's hand, and glanced at Cullen. "You're the chess player, aren't you?"

Mia laughed, a warm sound so reminiscent of Cullen's that Evie couldn't help but smile in response. "He told you that story? He always has to trot that out when he thinks I'm getting too big for my britches."

"He speaks often of all of—" Evie was cut off when Cullen pressed a finger over her lips to blur the last few syllables.

"She's exaggerating. Why don't we go inside?"

"Of course. Branson will want to be introduced, too." Cora linked her arm through Evie's to lead her into the house, so naturally that Evie was following before she'd even recognized the gesture.

The house had nothing on her parents' estate—it was a farmhouse through and through—and Evie loved it. It was cozy, with mismatched furniture and what looked to be handcrafted rugs on the floors. Children's drawings decorated many of the walls, some framed, some not; Evie caught the crayon scrawl of Cullen's name on a few of them. The kitchen table Cora led her to sit at was huge and scarred, and Evie burned to find out what stories it could tell.

"I'll get Branson," Bennett said and disappeared through a doorway past which Evie could make out stairs. Bedrooms upstairs, perhaps? Asking for a tour would probably be rude, but she wanted to soak up Cullen's home until she was saturated with it, hold the good feelings inside of her.

"So, tell me, how did you and Cullen meet?"

Evie smiled at Cora's question and relayed the story of Woof's attack, much to Cora and Mia's delight. Cullen, across the table, was flushed when she finished, but chuckled with the rest.

"I wasn't quite that pathetic," he protested with a frown that fell apart when the others laughed. "I just didn't see him coming. Speaking of, I'll go rescue him from your terrifying offspring."

Cullen had barely disappeared through the doorway before Cora reached for Evie's hands and clutched them tightly. "Are you really not his girlfriend?" she asked, her mouth a faint moue of disappointment.

"I'm really not," Evie said, then, "I'm sorry."

"You seem like such a nice girl; you'd be perfect together. It's about time he settles down and thinks about starting his own family."

"You've already got a pile of grandkids from Mia, Mom. You should leave him alone."

Evie turned toward the new voice and found a young man standing in the doorway through which Bennett had gone. He looked tired, with bloodshot eyes and shaking hands. She recognized the hints of leashed aggression in his voice and connected the dots that Cullen had left open; she'd seen it too often not to know lyrium withdrawal.

"You must be Branson," she said. "I'm Cullen's friend, Evie."

"You a shrink, too?"

"I work at the center," she deflected, then pulled her hands from Cora's grasp and stood to offer one to him. "That's how I met your brother."

Branson eyed her suspiciously, and made no move to take her hand as he turned his glare to his mother. "I told you I didn't want him involved. Or her."

"Branson," Cora began, but Evie cut over her sharp words.

"No one is involved if you don't want them to be," she said, and smiled. "I'm here because Cullen wanted to visit his family and thought that Woof would enjoy some space to run."

Branson narrowed his eyes. "Woof?"

"Woof," Cullen said, and Evie turned to find him returned with Woof at his heels. "He's a beast, but I think the kids tired him out."

Evie shook her head. "You encourage him," she chided, then held out a hand to Woof. "Come on, introduce yourself."

Branson's suspicious look faded when Woof moved to sit in front of him, one massive paw raised. For a long moment, Evie was sure he'd spurn Woof's paw as he had her hand, but he slowly moved to take it, shook it gingerly.

"I can't believe I'm shaking hands with a dog named Woof. It's ridiculous."

Evie chuckled and sat down again; Woof could work his magic without her this time. "You can call him Beowoof, if that helps. But he _is_ pretty ridiculous, so Woof fits just as well."

"Why don't you sit outside and get some fresh air, dear?" Cora stood and led Branson toward the door that looked to lead to the kitchen. "Go out back so the kids don't see you. I'll call you when lunch is ready."

"Mom," Branson began, protest in his tone, but nevertheless went into the other room. A moment later, Evie heard a screen door open and shut, and a few moments later Cora settled into her chair once more.

"It's probably hard to tell, but that was the happiest he's been in a while." Cora looked down at her hands as her mouth tightened. "We try so hard, but..."

"Mom, it's not your fault." Mia sat next to Cora and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "You did everything you could."

Evie had never been particularly good at dealing with the patients' families—that was Dorian's forte—but the Rutherfords' pain was palpable. She glanced at Cullen, rallied with his slight smile. "You just keep trying until you find what helps. You didn't give up on him—that's what matters."

"She's right, Mom." Cullen pulled out the chair next to Evie, slid his hand under the table to find and squeeze hers. "He wants help, or he wouldn't be here, but he has to find it on his own terms."

Silence fell over the room until Mia cleared her throat and patted Cora's shoulder. "We should get started on lunch, before the kids come in. Would you care to join us, Evie?."

Evie laughed and shook her head. "No, I'm no good in the kitchen. I've never learned to cook."

Cora looked appalled, but Cullen cut in before she could voice her obvious thoughts. "You can teach her some other time, Mom. I'll show her around."

Evie fought a smile as Cullen hustled her out of the dining room, one hand firm at the small of her back. "Some other time, hm?" she teased. "Planning on making this a regular occurrence?"

To her surprise, Cullen nodded. "If you want, of course. Mom would love to teach you."

Evie blinked. "I see," she said slowly, then licked her lips. "Why don't you give me this amazing tour?"

"I don't know about _amazing_ , but..."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which forward progress is made.

As he showed Evie his parents' home, Cullen fought distraction. He pointed out where the farmhouse had been expanded—it had been in the family for generations and each had left their mark on it—and wondered what she must think. It was a fine house, but nothing compared to what he assumed she had grown up with. She was remarkably reticent about her family life; her comments in the car were the most he'd ever heard her discuss it. He prickled with curiosity, but believed she'd tell him about it if she wanted him to know.

All in its own time.

He gave her a leisurely tour, pointed out scars in the wall from childhood sword fights with Branson, and where Cora had marked their heights, heavy lines in four colors of marker. He walked her through the timeline of children's drawings, from the earliest crayon scribbles to clumsy oil paintings. ("Mia wanted to be an artist," he explained, "but gave it up when she wasn't an overnight master.") He showed her the loose floorboard in the covered porch he'd hidden small treasures under, moved it aside to find that his box was still there.

Evie peered over his shoulder as he crouched to pull the box out of the small space, one hand on his back for balance. He tried not to read too much into that. "So, what did younger Cullen think was worth hiding away?"

"I don't remember. I thought I'd cleaned it out." He flipped the box open and blinked before he drew out a single coin. It was nothing—not even enough to buy a decent cup of tea—but it lanced through his chest. "Branson gave me this. When I left for templar training."

"Templar training?" He could feel her fingers curling slightly against his back as she paused. "I didn't know you'd been a templar."

Cullen replaced the box inside the opening, and shifted the floorboard back into place before he answered. "I wasn't," he said slowly, then stood and slid the coin into his pocket. "I left before my vigil; I never made it above recruit."

"That must've been a hard decision," Evie replied, her mild tone enough to make Cullen look at her. She watched him with her brows knit; he could practically see the questions building behind her teeth.

"It was. I bothered my parents for years to let me attend, and even then they only allowed it because one of the local templars vouched for me." He smiled, though the twist of his lips felt strained. "I got to know some of the knights while I was training, one of whom left the order. I happened to encounter him later, and he was a wreck; the chantry may tacitly support lyrium usage among templars, but they don't have any consideration for what comes after." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess you could say it made an impression; I left the training program a week later."

"I see. Was it hard for you when Branson decided to join the order?"

Cullen shook his head. "He was old enough to make his own decisions by then—much older than I was when I entered training." He sighed, then met her eyes with another smile that felt awkward on his face. "There's not much left to see—just the kids' rooms on the upper level. I can show you, if you want to see a time capsule."

Evie's knit brows smoothed. "Oh, could you? I'd love to see it."

Cullen reached out to take her hand, and dropped it immediately when he realized what he'd done. "I— Sorry, I don't—"

"Cullen." Evie smiled as she clasped his hand again, her fingers woven through his with unfamiliar familiarity. "It's fine. Show me your time capsule."

Cullen silently led her back through the house to the stairs to the upper level, focused on the warmth of her fingers against his. They made their way upstairs and Cullen pointed out rooms. A door with a sign declaring "DO NOT ENTER" surrounded by skulls was Branson's, while a door across the hall, painted pink with faded yellow daisies, was Rosalie's. ("She's the baby," Cullen said. "I'm sure you'll meet her eventually.") He noted one bare door as Mia's, then tugged Evie to stand before the other. "Promise you won't think any less of me."

"I promise," she said, then dropped his hand to reach for the handle and push the door open.

Cullen winced at the scene revealed. Textbooks were still scattered everywhere, every flat surface littered with them. The plates he'd been prone to forgetting about were gone, thankfully, but his bed was still neatly made up with sheets printed with snowmen (a gift from Rosalie he hadn't had the heart to shuffle to the back of the linen closet) and an uneven handmade quilt. The posters he'd put up over a decade ago still hung on the walls; several featured Isabela the Pirate Queen, and Evie glanced at him with tight lips after she'd leaned over to study one.

"I take it you... like... pirates?"

"You can laugh all you want," he said, and smiled at her answering giggle. "Those are her best roles."

Evie hummed. "I'm sure her lack of pants had nothing to do with it." Her smile brightened before she turned back to a poster of Isabela in a particularly dashing pose. "Those _are_ quite nice boots."

"Mia used to dress up like her and make us go on adventures. I was usually the villain, but Mom put a stop to it after Mia decided I was the Arishok and chased me around two trees for half an hour."

"You love your family." Evie's voice held a wistfulness as she sat on the edge of his bed and smoothed a hand over the quilt covering it. "Did your mother make this?"

Cullen frowned but didn't resist her change of topic. "Mia did, actually, for a class. She said it was supposed to be for Mom and Dad but it came out too small. It was just coincidence that it was in my favorite colors." He watched Evie's hand as it ran over the quilt, delicately traced the seams. "She'd probably make one for you, if you wanted."

Evie looked at him with both eyebrows raised. "For a total stranger? Cullen, we just met today."

"You're not a total stranger." Cullen could feel heat in his cheeks as he took her hand, hoped that it didn't show. "I've told them about you. Mom always asks after you." He turned Evie's hand over and leaned to be able to fish in his pocket, then dropped the retrieved coin in Evie's palm and curled her fingers over it. "You're practically part of the family." Evie stared at him, her wide eyes vulnerable, and he gently touched her cheek. "If you want, that is."

"Cullen," Evie began, but nothing followed. Under his, her fingers tightened around the coin. "Why?" she managed at last, and Cullen fought a frown at the doubt in her voice.

"I'm not imagining things, am I?" He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, looked down at their hands joined in Evie's lap. "We... That is... The other day, when we..." Maker, why couldn't he stop stammering like a teenager? Maybe it was being in his childhood bedroom, but he was more certain that he was simply worried about ruining his opportunity. "I—"

"Cullen," Evie interrupted, and shifted minutely closer as she looked at their hands. "You're not." She met his eyes and smiled, tremulous at first, then with increased confidence. "You're not imagining things."

Cullen freed his hand and slid one into the fine hair at her nape, let the other rest on her thigh. "May I kiss you again?"

Evie laughed, and Cullen felt relief wash over him at the familiar sound. "You don't have to ask, Cullen. Just d—"

Her lips were as soft as he'd remembered. It hadn't been long enough to forget the feel, but it seemed as though it had been forever. He learned the contours of her lips with enthusiasm, lightly nipped her lower lip and exulted in the soft sound she made in response. When he pressed his advantage, she opened to him, met his tongue with light touches of her own, fleeting and playful.

By the time they broke apart, they were both breathless, and they looked at each other in silence until Evie giggled. Cullen couldn't help but laugh as well, but it was cut off abruptly when Evie twisted and shoved at his chest, pushed him flat on his back. For a moment he worried that he'd offended her, pushed too hard, too fast, but then she rolled and straddled his hips.

"You can tell me to stop, if you'd like." Evie still sounded breathless, and Cullen couldn't help the spike of pride that _he'd_ accomplished that. She leaned over him so that her loose hair tickled his cheeks. "It'd probably be for the best if you did."

"Probably," Cullen agreed, then tangled his fingers in her hair and coaxed her down for another kiss. She was no passive recipient this time; there was no lingering shyness to be found. She delved into the kiss so thoroughly that he didn't notice her hands on his shirt until the fourth button was undone. He released her to pull his shirt from his jeans himself, tried to help with the remaining buttons until she broke the kiss to laugh and shove his hands away so she could finish it herself.

"You're not helping," she teased, and ran her hand up his torso as the sides of his shirt fell open.

He couldn't stop the lurch of his abdomen when she touched him, and surged up to swallow her laughter. Together, they clumsily freed him from his shirt, then turned their attention to hers. It was a simple task to pull hers over her head, quick enough that he didn't have time to miss their broken kiss before their mouths were joined again. He ran his hands up her rib cage until his thumbs came to rest under her breasts, separated by only a thin layer of incongruously green lace.

Evie moaned softly, shifted to grip his shoulders, pushed him down again. Her breasts pressed against his chest as she leaned over him and delicately bit his earlobe, barely more than a hint of pressure that was still enough to drag a moan from his own throat. Her back flexed under his hands as he traced the line of her spine to the hooks of her bra, and he'd just freed one when he heard overly-loud footsteps that moved up the hallway.

"Lunch will be ready in a few minutes." Mia's voice came from halfway down the hall, and Cullen silently sent a prayer of thanks that she'd decided on decorum over humiliation, though he was certain he'd get an earful later. "I'd suggest pants," she added, and Cullen rescinded his gratitude.

"We'll be right there," Evie said before Cullen could respond, and he wondered at how she managed to sound normal. "Thank you for letting us know."

Mia laughed. "Just be glad it was me and not Mom," she said, then her footsteps echoed down the hall until silence reigned.

"We should straighten up," Cullen said as he sat up and hooked Evie's bra again, then collected her shirt and offered it to her.

"In a minute." Before Cullen could question it, he had an armful of Evie again, and eager lips on his. His good intentions melted away as the kiss deepened; it was only when he found he'd unhooked her bra again that he was able to gather himself enough to pull away.

"What was that for?"

Evie smiled and slipped from his arms to sit back on her heels. "They're all going to know what we were doing anyway." She reached behind herself to hook her bra yet again, then tugged her shirt over her head and smoothed it into place. "I wanted to use those few minutes well."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen is not jealous.

Evie waved at the Rutherford family as Cullen turned the car down the driveway and headed back to the main road. As they disappeared around a bend in the drive, she sat back with a sigh, closed her eyes, and rubbed her forehead.

"All right?"

She smiled at Cullen's concern. "Yes. Just a little... overwhelmed."

Cullen's chuckle was soft; she could hear the fondness in it. "They do that. They liked you, though."

Evie opened her eyes and tilted her head to glance at Cullen's profile. "I'm glad. I think your mother already has us married off, though."

A flush rose up Cullen's neck as he cleared his throat. "She wants all of us settled; she worries. It doesn't— that is, you don't _have_ to..."

"We should talk, Cullen." She caught his wrist as his hand rose to rub the back of his neck, tugged it instead to her thigh and curled her fingers around his. "Not now, but... we should talk."

"You're right." Cullen glanced at her, barely a moment of eye contact before his gaze was back on the road. "I appreciate you coming with me today. It seemed like Branson felt better when we left."

Evie shook her head. "That was Woof, not me. I was just along for the ride." She twisted to reach into the backseat and scratch Woof with her free hand. "It's what he does, and he's a very good boy, isn't he? Yes, such a good boy. Such a good boy!" She giggled when Woof licked her hand, then belated became aware that the car had stopped. She turned to see that Cullen had pulled over to the side of the road, and frowned. "Is someth—"

Cullen's fingers were warm on her chin as he turned her to face him. The kiss was unbearably sweet, a delicate press of lips against hers, and she made a soft sound of surprise as she leaned into the sudden contact.

"What was that for?" she asked when Cullen pulled back with a gentle caress along her jawline.

Cullen smiled faintly as he signaled and pulled back onto the road. "I wanted to. Was there something wrong with it?"

"No, not that..." She considered his profile again, then lightly poked his shoulder. "Were you jealous?"

"Of _Woof_?" Cullen's tone was appalled, but another flush darkened his cheeks.

"You were!" Evie laughed and squeezed his hand. "Cullen, that's— that's adorable." She leaned across the center console to murmur in his ear. "You're a good boy, too."

The car jerked as Cullen swerved across the center line, then back into his lane. "Don't be foolish," he said, but the tone she thought he'd intended to be sharp was instead layered with embarrassment. "I'm not a dog."

"You're not," Evie agreed mildly as she settled in her seat again. "You're still adorable, though."

Cullen made a disgusted noise that would have made Cassandra proud, and they lapsed into silence until they reached Honnleath. As they stopped at a light, Cullen cleared his throat. "You know, we don't have to be back at the center any particular time today; we could stop for dinner. There's a new restaurant I'd like to try... if you'd be interested, of course."

Evie frowned slightly. "I'd... like to, but what about Woof? We can't just leave him."

"They have outdoor seating." Cullen glanced at her with a hopeful quirk to his eyebrows. "I doubt they'd mind him there."

Evie hummed as she thought, and finally said, "OK. Let's go." Cullen's smile was a reward in itself, and she couldn't help but return it.

A few minutes later, they were pulling into the parking lot of a small, unassuming building, an understated sign at the front. Bemused, she unbuckled Woof's harness as Cullen preceded her into the restaurant, and scratched behind Woof's ears until Cullen reappeared.

"Around the side, here; they've got a table for us."

Evie followed him to an open dining area and settled in the chair he pulled out for her. Woof stretched out at their feet as Cullen seated himself, and a moment later a smiling server joined them. She only half-heard the specials he rattled off, distracted by the memory of the brush of Cullen's hand along her arm after he'd pushed her chair in. She managed to order a glass of sangria, then stared at Cullen as the server left.

"The pork belly sounds good. Oh, and bacon wrapped dates. How do you feel about duck?"

"Cullen," she said, and sighed as he looked up from the menu. "What are you doing to me?"

Cullen's lips turned up in a crooked smile. "It isn't obvious?" He leaned forward and met her eyes with a steady gaze. "I'm trying to seduce you, of course."

Maker, his husky murmur did awful—and amazing—things to her, and she stiffened in an attempt to keep the shiver that ran up her spine from being too obvious. "I see," she said, and shifted in her chair. She wasn't squirming, she told herself, it was just that the metal seat was a bit uncomfortable.

"Is it working?"

Evie laughed as the server reappeared with their drinks, but once she started, she couldn't seem to stop herself. She clapped both hands over her mouth as Cullen ordered, and, by the time the server left to put in their order, was in tears and all but wheezing. Woof lurched at her feet and poked his nose against her thigh, his ears perked with concern, and Evie managed to uncover her mouth to pat his head as she reached for her napkin to wipe the tears away.

"Evie?" Cullen sounded confused, an impression reinforced when she could look at him without the blur of tears. "Should I apologize?"

"No, no." Evie wiped her eyes again, then dropped the napkin to her lap and smiled at him. "It was just.. it was such a silly question. 'Is it working?' Maker, yes, it's working."

Cullen's relief was palpable, though he tried to hide it behind a long drink of water. When he set his glass down, he reached over the table to brush his fingers, cool with condensation, over the back of her hand. "This 'talk' you want to have... Is now a good time?"

Evie looked down as she booped Woof's nose and pressed him back under the table. "I don't know," she admitted, then looked at him through her lashes. "I suppose there isn't a better time, is there? We need to clear the air."

Cullen nodded and toyed with his fork. "I think it's apparent that we're attracted to each other."

Evie couldn't help but smile at his understatement. "What are we going to do about it, though?"

"Should I tell you what _I'd_ like?"

That husky murmur was back, and Evie's mouth was suddenly too dry to manage words. Instead, she nodded, while her hands clenched into fists under the table.

Cullen rested his elbow on the table and propped his chin up with two fingers as he studied her. He had to be letting the anticipation build deliberately, and she was just about ready to demand he elaborate when he sighed softly. "I want to wake up with you. I want your face to be the last thing I see at night, and the first thing I see in the morning. I want to find out how your skin feels when you're still sleepy and warm, how you smile when I drag you back into bed. I want to know what you sound like when I kiss your breasts, how you move when I spread you open. I want to watch you fall apart and know that I did it."

Maker's _breath_ , he was evil. She couldn't help her labored breathing, and the rub of her shirt against her nipples through the thin lace of her bra was aggravating—and wonderful. "Is that all?" she asked, and even she was surprised by the breathlessness of her own voice.

"No." Cullen watched her, unsmiling now, but with heat in his eyes. "That's not all."

"Cullen," she began, only to be interrupted by the appearance of the server with their food. As the plates were spread between them, she swallowed thickly; she couldn't remember the last time she'd been this aroused by words alone, much less by the man speaking them. "Cullen," she said again when the server departed, held his gaze when he looked up from spearing a piece of pork belly. "Maybe this isn't a good place after all."

Cullen chuckled, damn him, and cupped his hand under his fork as he held it out to her. "Try this," he said, and she obligingly opened her mouth for him to feed her. "Good?"

Evie hummed her agreement as her eyes went heavy-lidded; it had been a while since she'd eaten anything but cafeteria food, and the pork belly melted in her mouth. "Delicious," she confirmed after she'd swallowed, and collected a bacon-wrapped date on her own fork. She held it out to him. "Now you."

Cullen flushed—entirely too endearing, in the wake of his heated words. His eyebrows knotted together as he considered the fork she waved slowly in front of him. "I— Alright."

She held her breath as he leaned forward to close his lips around the fork, dragged the date from it as he sat back. His soft hum of enjoyment did incredible things to her insides, and she hastily helped herself to another date, chewing it determinedly to prevent herself from saying anything to embarrass herself further.

As they ate, they settled into small talk, careful to avoid the elephant in the room. They discussed the food ("We need another plate of that seared duck breast, don't we?"), Cullen told stories of his childhood ("I'm standing there with my face bleeding, and Branson's trying to convince me to let him stitch it so Mom won't notice and kill him."), and Evie shared anecdotes about Woof's adventures ("I was running down the hall after him in my underpants—in the middle of the night—and hoping the sisters didn't hear."). They talked about everything but the attraction still stretched taut between them, until Evie set down her fork and decided she'd had enough.

"I should tell you: I don't have much experience. With men. Dating. Is that what we're doing?"

Cullen blinked slowly, and set down his own fork. "Is it? I'd like it, if it were."

Evie smiled, despite the illogical shyness that crept over her. "All right. Me, too. I mean, sex would be fabulous, but I like you, too. I like spending time with you. I'd like to know you better."

Cullen chuckled; she debated taking offense until he rubbed the back of his neck. "I'd like that, too. We're doing this out of order, aren't we?"

"That's fine," Evie said, and echoed Cullen's chuckle. "As long as we get to the same place in the end." She licked her lips and inhaled slowly, then gave him a saucy smile and looked at him through her lashes. "I did mention that sex would be fabulous, right?"

Maker, but she was beginning to love his flush. "Yes," he said, and ducked his head. "I don't have much experience either, you know."

Evie couldn't help the arch of her eyebrows. "You don't kiss like a virgin," she teased, and was rewarded when he nearly snorted out the water he'd been drinking. "Well, you don't."

"I'm _not_ a virgin," he insisted, then sighed at the giggle she couldn't contain. "I haven't dated much, but I know my way around, thank you." He grabbed her hand and flipped it over, traced a line, barely a brush of contact, from the center of her palm up her wrist. "I promise you: you won't be disappointed."

Evie swallowed. "The possibility never entered my mind."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [disgusted noise]

Dusk was deepening when Cullen parked in the staff lot; silence lay heavily over the grounds, curfew well past. Neither said anything as they got out of the car, nor when Evie unharnessed Woof and sent him running to the staff hall, nor as they walked across the lot behind Woof's mad dash. It was only when they stood outside the doors that Evie turned to him with a nervous frown.

"Everyone's going to figure it out, you know. Is that a problem?"

He wanted to mark her all over with kisses, fill her with himself until no-one could possibly miss it. He felt like a caveman, and deliberately tamped down the urge to stake his claim; she wouldn't appreciate it, and deserved better. Instead, he just shook his head. "I say let them figure it out. We needn't tell them."

Evie's smile shone brightly. "It won't take them long." She stepped closer and rested a hand against his chest; he was certain she could feel the throbbing of his heart. "I don't want to say good-night yet."

Cullen nodded and rested a hand at Evie's waist. "We shouldn't rush things."

"Anymore than we already have," Evie teased as she slid her free hand to the back of his neck.

"We should go inside," he said, and wondered when he'd framed Evie's waist with both hands, much less pulled her closer. "Get some sleep."

Evie hummed and nuzzled his throat, her breath warm against his skin. "It's back to work tomorrow."

"Have to be at our best," he murmured against her ear, and smiled to himself when he felt her tremor under his hands.

Evie pulled back slightly and their gazes caught, anticipation stretched taut between them as they tilted their heads and slowly leaned in. Their lips had barely touched when Woof barked not far from them, and they leapt apart. Evie pressed her fingers to her lips while Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, neither looking at the other.

"Are you through blocking the door?" Cassandra asked, and Cullen mentally groaned; he hadn't even noticed her approach. Woof was at her heels; his backside wiggled excitedly as he looked up at them.

"Sorry," he and Evie said in tandem, then looked at each other for a moment before they pulled their eyes quickly away.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise, though her expression wasn't as severe as usual. "This is ridiculous," she grumbled, and if Cullen didn't know better, he'd think she was teasing them. "I'm obviously going to have to deal with that _dog_ tonight; you seem to be _otherwise occupied_."

"Sorry," Evie said again, then again as she patted Woof's wide head. "Sorry."

"I suppose it's inevitable. Now, if you'll excuse us." Cassandra slipped through the space opened between Cullen and Evie, opened the door, and disappeared inside with Woof.

Evie cleared her throat delicately, still unable to meet Cullen's eyes. "I'm going in, too. Long day, you know." She smiled vaguely before she opened the door and followed Cassandra into the hall.

Left by himself, Cullen ran his fingers through his hair and tried to convince himself that he wasn't disappointed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which there are bad ideas.  
>  Alternatively: In which the rating goes up._

Evie sat on the edge of her bed and told herself again that it was not a good idea. It was, in fact, a _terrible_ idea, and she was a fool for even considering it.

She flopped backwards on the mattress and sighed heavily. Cullen was probably asleep already. She should be, too; morning would come soon enough, and fretting was getting her nowhere. She pulled her feet up and curled on her side on top of the covers, sighed again.

"I'm not doing it," she insisted. "I'm going to sleep, and tomorrow we'll behave like adults again."

Committed, she rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. She cleaned her teeth with vigor, brushed her hair until it gleamed, stripped and tossed her clothes in the hamper. Naked, she headed back to her bed and crawled between the sheets.

Fifteen minutes later, she got up, pulled on a nightgown, and headed for the door.

The hall was quiet, lights dimmed; it was late enough that only the night staff should be up—and they were all on shift, rather than wandering the halls. She inhaled deeply and headed down the hall, quiet in bare feet, until she stood before Cullen's door. She inhaled again, held it a moment, then exhaled and knocked softly.

No-one answered her knock, and she was about to give up and turn away when the door was wrenched open. Cullen's hair dripped onto his shoulders; water ran in rivulets over what skin wasn't covered by the towel he'd knotted around his waist.

' _That's a lot of skin_ ,' Evie thought, only to realize that she'd said it aloud when Cullen chuckled. "We never said good-night," she added, even as she tried—unsuccessfully—to pull her gaze away from Cullen's wet chest. "I thought we should."

Cullen's smile was slow and a bit dark, filled with innuendo. "Good night, Evie," he said, and his voice matched his smile; it moved around her like a caress. Evie shivered and dropped her gaze to his towel, the line of burgundy against his fair skin. She only realized she'd been staring silently when Cullen touched her chin and added, "Would you like to stand here all night?"

Evie blinked and jerked her eyes to meet Cullen's. "No. I'd very much like to come in."

Cullen shifted to a side. Evie accepted the invitation, and stepped into Cullen's room.

"No posters," she noted as she scanned the space.

"No posters," he agreed. His arms slipped around Evie's waist from behind, drew her back against his body as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

She shivered when his skin touched hers. "Cold!" She settled her hands over his, rubbed slowly. "Were you out of hot water?"

Cullen's chuckle was warm against her ear. "It started out cold," he admitted. "I hope you can imagine why."

"Cullen," she began, but words failed her. Instead, she wrapped her arms over his and squeezed tightly. He nuzzled her ear, ran his lips along its upper curves, and she shivered for an entirely different reason.

"Will you stay?" he asked softly, barely a murmur. When she nodded, he hummed and moved a hand to pull her hair aside, draped it over her shoulder as he pressed burning kisses to the back of her neck.

Evie closed her eyes and tilted her head, opened to him. He slid the strap of her nightgown down her arm and trailed kisses over her shoulder, and she exhaled heavily, imagined that all of her nerves left with her breath. It wasn't that she was inexperienced—rather, she'd never _cared_ so much before, and that was terrifying in its own right. 

"All right?"

She started at his soft question, then nodded, a jerky motion that she feared wasn't at all reassuring. "Don't stop."

To her chagrin, Cullen did just that. He pulled back, turned her to face him with gentle hands. "We don't have to, if you're not ready."

Evie blinked, then wove her fingers through Cullen's hair, still chilly against her skin. "Oh, I want to," she said firmly. "Don't doubt that."

Cullen smiled, a crooked curve of his lips, and leaned down to brush his lips over her ear again. "I'm glad; it would've been hard to let you go."

Her arms wound around his neck of their own accord to hold him tightly. "It would've been hard to go." Maker, she wanted to climb into his arms and stay there. "Kiss me already, would you?"

His laughter died between their mouths as they came together. She kept her arms tight around his neck, while his wrapped around her waist again and dragged her against him. The towel was a poor shield, and she could already feel a firmness beneath it that made her nearly cry with anticipation. No doubt he could feel her own arousal; her breasts felt full and heavy, her nipples tight as they rubbed against his chest with only the thin, damp fabric of her nightgown between them.

They came apart only to kiss again, as though magnets drew them irresistibly together. She didn't realize that he'd released her waist until his hands cupped her backside and hefted her, changed the angle of their kiss. She whimpered into his mouth and wrapped her legs around him, chased the kiss as he turned and walked to what she dearly hoped was the bed; she didn't think her legs would hold out if he set her down on them again.

The mattress molded to her back when he lay her down upon it, and she exulted in it as he stroked his fingers through her hair. Their broken kiss was replaced by soft murmurs, nonsense words and endearments pressed against her cheeks, her forehead, her throat. She moved to settle her hands at his shoulders and lightly traced his clavicle with her thumbs as she rocked her hips against his.

Cullen's answering groan was deep; it vibrated through her flesh and left shivers in its wake. "Evie," he murmured, caught her in another fleeting kiss, then sat back to rest his hands on her thighs where he toyed with the hem of her nightgown. He looked at her imploringly and she could only nod.

He ran his hands up her thighs, over her belly to her breasts as the nightgown pooled at his wrists and followed his hands up her body. He paused ever-so briefly to roll his thumbs over her nipples, pulled the nightgown over and off when she arched into the touch.

"I have to admit," he whispered as he dropped the plain cotton nightgown on the bed, left it to be forgotten, "I imagined you as more of a silk and lace type."

Evie laughed, husky even to her own ears. "I usually sleep naked," she said, and barely registered his wide eyes before he'd caught her in another kiss. It was ravenous, consuming, and she closed her eyes and lost herself in it, let it take her away from herself. She made a sound of complaint when he pulled back, tugged imperiously at his hair to coax him back into it, frowned at his resistance.

She opened her eyes to find him looking reverently at her, as though he could never see his fill. His hands settled at her thighs again and repeated their slide upwards, but stopped this time just beneath her breasts; his thumbs barely brushed their undersides. His fingers, splayed across her ribs, held her firmly as he brushed a kiss against her sternum.

"Maker's breath, you're beautiful."

"Am I?" She stretched beneath him, reveled in the slide of his skin against her own.

Cullen chuckled warmly and kissed the upper swell of one breast. "You know you are; don't play coy." He kissed the disgruntled pucker of her lips, then slid his down her other breast until his mouth hovered over her nipple, his uneven breathing against it its own small torture.

Evie arched helplessly when he pressed a sucking kiss there, then flicked it with his tongue before he pulled away. Another complaint rose in her throat, only to transform into a moan when his mouth returned to suck eagerly on her flesh. His tongue and teeth played accompaniment as she shivered and squirmed beneath the attention. By the time he released her, she felt like a live wire, ready to spark at the slightest touch.

"Cullen," she said as he turned his attention to her other nipple. "Cullen," she repeated when he didn't respond, then again, before she wove her fingers into his hair and pulled his head away. The pop his lips made as they released her flesh made her shiver all over again, but she pushed it aside and met his heated gaze. "My turn."

His eyebrows set into a rebellious line, but she had none of that; she shoved his shoulder and swung her leg over him until they echoed their position in his childhood bedroom. She shifted slightly to settle Cullen more firmly between her thighs and he groaned as his hands flew to her hips, as though to still her. Their grip lacked strength, though, and Evie simply moved within them.

The firmness beneath Cullen's towel had long-since turned into a hard rod of flesh, and she rocked against it until he groaned and squeezed her. His hips moved with small, abortive thrusts and she whimpered as his terrycloth-covered cock brushed between her folds. Intentions forgotten, she ground her hips against him, sought that same spark as she shivered and squirmed above him.

The world abruptly tilted, and a moment later Evie found herself on her back again, Cullen's mouth hard and hot on hers. Her protest was more of a moan, lost between them as one of Cullen's hands settled at her belly, then ran lower.

The first touch against her clit startled a yelp out of her, hastily strangled. Cullen, damn him, laughed and stroked two fingers over it, one after the other after the other, an endless cycle of stimulation that left her light-headed. She spread her thighs, dragged her heels higher on the mattress to get some leverage, and rocked against his hand. She was barely aware of it when his thumb replaced his fingers, which continued lower and lower until they circled her opening.

"Cullen," she said, unable to care about the thickness of her voice, "please."

She wasn't entirely certain what she was asking for, but when Cullen slipped his fingers between her slick folds and into her, it was in that moment everything she'd wanted. She caught her breath on another moan and focused only on the feel of his fingers as they stretched her, stroked her, drove her wild. She was peripherally aware of his other hand as it squeezed her breast, his mouth as it traced the contours of her belly, but it was as though she were a harp, and his fingers plucked all the right strings within her to send music vibrating through her entire body.

" _Please_ tell me you have condoms," she implored, and Cullen chuckled.

"I was an optimist," he murmured against the sensitive skin below her navel. "I bought a box, the last time I was in town." He pulled his fingers from her, tickled them over her clit, then braced his hand on her thigh to push himself up enough to be able to look at her. "Why do you ask?"

Evie thought hard about kicking him, but settled for a sigh. "I ask because I would rather like it were you to _fuck me_." She stroked his jaw, flicked her thumb over the scar at his lip. "Do I really have to spell it out?"

"No," Cullen replied after a long, thoughtful moment, and she smiled at him, only for it to slide off her face a moment later when he scooted down the bed and buried his face between her legs.

"Maker's _balls_ ," she said, then words moved out of her grasp. She could feel his fingers as they spread her open, the press of his tongue as he dragged it heavily over her clit, flicked it against the tip of the bundle of nerves, lapped lower to tease at her opening. Two fingers speared into her again, curled and flexed deep inside her body, and she nearly came off the bed; the stroke of his tongue around the stretched, sensitized flesh was exquisite, and she didn't want it to end.

She unclenched one hand from the sheets she didn't remember clutching to brush it clumsily through Cullen's hair. When he didn't acknowledge it, she instead trailed her fingers up her own body to tweak one painfully-tight nipple, shuddered as the sensation joined the cacophony Cullen was instilling within her.

"Cullen," she meant to say when she felt the heat in her belly coil unbearably tight, but all she managed was a small ' _ah_ ' when he pushed her over the brink into the long freefall of orgasm. He rode it out with her, chased her with his mouth as she clenched around his fingers and writhed. By the time he'd drawn away, she was a limp, breathless wreck.

"I didn't mean to make you cry," she heard him say as though from a great distance, and she opened her eyes to find that he hovered over her, mouth set in a concerned line. She touched it lightly, smiled at the slick still on his lips.

"It's good crying," she insisted, then closed her eyes again. "That was..."

"Just the beginning." A drawer opening punctuated Cullen's words, and a moment later a box was dropped gently on her chest. She groped for it, ran her fingers along its edge.

"If this isn't what I think it is, it won't be good crying this time."

Cullen's warm chuckle made her smile, a curve that he kissed firmly. He licked at the seam of her lips—she couldn't help but remember how he'd opened other parts of her with his tongue—and delved deeply into her mouth when they parted for him; she could taste herself in him and shuddered.

It was a surprise when he rolled, his arms around her waist to drag her on top of him. She opened her eyes to meet his, so close they were difficult to focus on, and lifted her eyebrows in question.

"Your turn," he all but growled.

A jolt of pleasure shot up her spine, as though she wasn't still languid from her orgasm. She braced her hands on his shoulders and pushed herself up, drew her knees up to straddle his thighs. She caught his hands and pulled them to her hips, hummed in satisfaction as his thumbs lazily rubbed over her hipbones, and hooked her fingers under the towel that had somehow managed to cling to Cullen's waist.

One light tug was all it took, and Cullen was laid bare before her.

She trailed a finger delicately up the shaft of Cullen's cock, skimmed over veins until she reached the head. A flick of her nail over the tip garnered a hissed breath, and she fought a giggle as she soothed it with a stroke of her palm. "It's been a while; I may be a little out of practice."

Cullen's abdomen heaved when she twisted her hand down his length to drag her fingernails over his balls, barely a whisper of contact. "You're doing fine," he said, and she shuddered again at the darkness in his voice, that low, primal tone that crawled into her and grabbed her by the hormones.

"Enough fine." It took a moment, but she eventually found where the box of condoms had been displaced to, and another moment later, she'd pulled a foil-wrapped condom out and dropped the box to be forgotten. She watched him closely as she teased herself with the packet, dragged it slowly up from her navel to play it between her breasts, then higher to daintily bite a corner. His narrowed eyes followed the path, focused intently on her mouth at its terminus.

She smiled as she ripped the packet open, kept her eyes locked on his as she pressed the rubber disc to the tip of his cock and rolled it down. His eyes flickered as though he wanted to watch her hands, but never truly broke their stare. He was laid bare in it, arousal swirling through his amber gaze, and she imprinted it in her memory: Dr. Rutherford, able to think of nothing but her.

She didn't realize that she'd been staring until one of Cullen's thumbs slid between her legs to flick her clit. She startled, broke their gaze with a shudder, and flushed. "Patience," she chided to cover her own embarrassment, and curled her fingers around his wrist to draw his hand back to her hip. "Keep them here."

"Evie," Cullen began, hoarse and plaintive, but cut off when Evie brushed a finger along his lower lip.

"Let me," she said, and trailed her finger over Cullen's chin, down the column of his throat, between his pectorals and along his belly. She circled his navel with a light brush of her finger, rewarded when his abdomen heaved again, and smiled as she trailed lower still, through the springy hair at his groin. She paused there, lingered to tease him as though she didn't know her intentions, then wrapped her hand around the base of his condom-clad cock.

When she lifted her hips and shuffled her knees higher up the bed, he caught on quickly. Though he remained still beneath her, his fingers clenched at her hips, the tips digging into her skin—not quite painful, but she suspected she'd have marks there come morning, and Maker but that was an appealing thought. She steadied his cock with a light grip, slid over him until the tip nudged her opening, then closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and slid to engulf him.

His heartfelt groan was a backdrop to her own gasp. She hadn't been lying—it _had_ been a while, and his cock was significantly more imposing than his fingers. She paused in her descent to catch her breath, to attempt to control the spasms wracking her as she took him in, with mixed success. She still shuddered as she resumed, could feel the tremors in her muscles as they clenched around his hard shaft. They persisted even after she seated herself fully upon him; it wouldn't take long to reach a second peak.

"Evie," Cullen said again, and Evie opened her eyes to find that his were heavy-lidded and dark, filled with want. His fingers relaxed at her hips, only to slide back to clench instead around her buttocks as he coaxed her into movement.

She obligingly rose, stopped only when he very nearly slipped from her, and circled her hips before sinking ever-so slowly onto him again. He cursed—or growled, she wasn't quite sure which—and bucked his hips up, buried himself in her again with an eagerness that forced another gasp from her throat. She ground against him, whimpered at the strain of containing him, then leaned forward to grip his shoulders as she rode him in earnest.

They were awkward, out of sync, and it was wonderful. When they shifted and adjusted their rhythm to play off of each other, though, it was _perfect_ ; Evie imagined she could hear the choir in the Golden City. Each stroke of his cock into her was an adulation, another note in a symphony that approached its crescendo, until it was suddenly enough, too much, and broke over her in wave after wave of pleasure.

She was barely aware when he rolled them again, only enough to murmur a complaint when he slipped from her, to laugh giddily when he drove into her again. She wrapped her arms around him, hands splayed over the muscles of his back as they flexed. He filled her over and over again, the rhythm of his thrusts uneven until they stuttered, shortened, stilled. The pulse of his cock within her echoed the aftershocks that lingered from her own orgasm, and the long, deep groan he muffled against her throat was somehow downright endearing.

They remained entangled for long moments as the sweat of their exertions dried on their skin, neither apparently willing to break the embrace. It was still too soon when Cullen shifted and pulled himself from within her, and Evie let her arms fall spread-eagled at her sides as he moved to sit at the edge of the bed and stripped off the condom. She couldn't contain a long sigh, and fought the urge to close her eyes; the last thing she needed was to fall asleep.

Cullen's fingers pressed against her cheek and she turned her head to find him smiling softly at her. She brushed her fingers against the curve of his mouth, only to have Cullen catch her hand and draw it back to press kisses to each of her fingertips, another that lingered in her palm.

"That was... nice," he murmured against her skin, and she shivered even as she burst into laughter.

"Nice? Andraste's flaming knicker-weasels, if that's _nice_ , then _great_ is going to singe my hair." She giggled helplessly until he joined in, only managed to contain herself when her eyes began to water. "Honestly: _nice_."

"Perhaps that was an understatement," he admitted, then kissed her palm again. "I hope you enjoyed it."

"Oh, _Cullen_. If I enjoyed it any more, I wouldn't have any bones left." She returned his smile, then gently tugged her hand free and pushed herself upright. "It's late; I should get going."

Surprise flitted across Cullen's face, and Evie firmly squashed the guilt that bit her chest. "Go?" he asked, and lightly touched her hair. "I was hoping you would stay the night."

Evie sighed and shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea." She looked to a side to avoid his gaze, and reached for her discarded nightgown, still balled next to her. "I just... I can't. I'm sorry."

She imagined she could feel Cullen's eyes searching her face, until he stood. "All right," he said, and offered her his hand. "Let's get you home."

Bemused, Evie took it, let him tug her to her feet. She watched as he pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms (and wasn't it a trial watching that perfect backside being covered?) and joined him when he beckoned her to the door. She slipped through when he opened it and started down the hall, only to be caught when he slid his arm under hers and crooked his elbow, an escort as fine as any in her parents' circle.

"I'm not some fair maiden," she whispered as he shut his door and turned them toward her room. "I don't need an escort."

"You don't," he agreed, but made no move to unlink their arms. His skin was warm now against hers, and Evie found herself wishing she dared to stay, to fall asleep with that warmth surrounding her. It would be morning too soon, though, and the halls would be bustling with other staff members getting ready to start their days. If they weren't talking already, they would be after her walk of shame.

They proceeded down the hall in silence, though Evie's thoughts weren't as still. They roiled and tumbled over each other, filled her head with white noise, until they drew to a halt before her door. They quieted when he turned her, touched her chin to lift it, and calmed completely when he brushed his lips over hers, a feather of a kiss.

"Good night," Cullen murmured against her mouth, then ran his fingers through her hair and stepped away.

"Good night," Evie parroted, barely more than a whisper, and all but fled into her room. She leaned back against the door and exhaled heavily, closed her eyes against the darkness of her room.

It _had_ been a terrible idea—a wonderfully terrible idea—and as she crossed the room to crawl between her cool sheets, she couldn't help but feel that she was in over her head, rapidly sinking—and she had no desire to surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm cross-posting from my writing tumblr, [gwyllgi-writes](http://gwyllgi-writes.tumblr.com/). I'm slowly adding more there, so please check it out!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a realization, a confession, and music. Not necessarily in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of smut here. By which I mean about half of the chapter. If you're here for the fluff, you can stop reading after the discussion about selfishness.

Cullen didn't know why he was surprised that things hadn't changed between them, but Evie's smile over the breakfast table was the same as always, warm and familiar, if without the wickedness she'd displayed the night before. It made sense for her to not behave differently when the rest of the staff was around, but he couldn't help wishing for some sign that she was thinking of their night together as much as he was.

It was easy to push it from the forefront of his mind while he was working, and he threw himself into not only his patients, but also reorganizing his office. He tore apart his shelves to put everything back in a barely-discernibly-different order, went through his patient records and reviewed treatment plans, read through a handful of medical journals he'd let pile up, sorted the piles of miscellany on his desk and shoved them into files. As curfew approached, he eyed his neatened office and sighed; he couldn't put it off any longer.

The staff lounge was particularly lively when he stepped into it; Bull (Cullen wondered if he would ever find out his proper name) was telling a story with expansive gestures—probably a dirty one, to judge by Dorian's sour expression beside him. The staff gathered around was roaring with laughter; even Cassandra had lost her usual scowl, though Cole still looked confused—the boy was the definition of naïve, despite his professional competence. Evie was in the thick of it, her arm slid familiarly around Dorian's waist as she murmured something in his ear that made him smile, hastily smothered.

Maker help him, he wanted to tear Dorian away and growl.

He'd never realized that he could be jealous before.

It wasn't an entirely welcome revelation.

He felt irrationally possessive, embarrassingly so, and she wouldn't appreciate—and didn't deserve—the base urge of his lizard brain to stake his claim. He thought he heard his name in Evie's voice as he turned to leave, but he couldn't stand to remain a moment longer. Once outside the lounge, though, he paused, at a loss as to where to settle instead.

His room was not an option, not when he could still picture the way Evie looked naked against his sheets, remember the way her body molded against his, the way she sighed his name when he stroked into her. No doubt a run would work off some energy, but he felt too nervous, too fitful to be able to control the urge to try to outrun his thoughts, and there was no benefit to truly exhausting himself. The staff had full access to the therapy facilities after hours; perhaps he should take some time in one of the hydrotherapy rooms or—

It was perfect. Feeling lighter with a destination in mind, Cullen hurried from the staff hall, as the sound of laughter lingered still behind him.

* * *

The feel of the keys under his fingers sent him back to his childhood, when his mother had dragged all four of her protesting children to music lessons. Branson had gravitated to the guitar, Rosalie to the flute. Mia, ever contrary, had insisted upon the bassoon. Cullen, sullen and resistant, had turned down everything until his mother had made the executive decision that he was going to be a pianist, and so he'd become a pianist. It had been to the surprise of not only himself but also his erstwhile teacher that he'd had an affinity for it, and what had begun with dread and resentment became an oasis from the chaos of home and school and nosy siblings.

The lesson piano then had been much like the piano in the music therapy room: an upright that, while obviously well cared for, was showing signs of wear from the touch of countless hands. Recitals had always been played on the conservatory's grand pianos, but there was something familiar about the uprights, something that made just stroking his fingertips over the keys calming, almost transportive.

Culled pulled out the bench and settled on it, pressed his thumb on middle C. The note rang clean and bright, and he found himself relaxing as he added E and G. The chord vibrated through him, loosened the knot he'd thought impossible in his chest, and he exhaled heavily before he played a scale—clumsy, rusty. He winced, tried again, and that was a little better, and the next was better than that. Slowly, his fingers warmed up and remembered the old patterns, and soon the scales were smooth and confident. He played major and minor, then traded arpeggios between his hands until both felt limber and ready to tackle anything. He inhaled, exhaled, and began to pick out melodies, snatches of half-forgotten songs woven together as they came to him.

He played tavern songs, hymns, simple one-handed songs from his first lessons and refrains from his last recital pieces. He played long after his hands, unused to the demanding movements, tired, until he could barely manage a clumsy trill, then cut off abruptly and simply rested his hands on the keys. He closed his eyes, listened to his breath and the silence and and quiet footsteps that—

Footsteps?

He opened his eyes to find Evie standing at the end of the piano, her fingers curled over the top corner. She smiled, fleeting and, if he didn't know better, shy, and shifted her weight from foot to foot, but didn't say a word. After several long moments of staring at each other, he closed the keyboard cover and pressed his hands to the bench. "How did you find me?"

Evie smiled again as a faint flush crept over her cheeks. "Woof," she said, and that was all the explanation necessary; Cullen should have known he couldn't hide from a mabari. "I didn't know you played," she added a moment later, and ran her hand idly down the side of the piano, her expression wistful.

"There are a lot of things we don't know about each other." He moved his hands to the keyboard cover again, stroked his thumbs along the keyslip as an anchor to keep from catching her hand. "It's been years," he said into the silence that stretched again between them. "I'm surprised I remembered how."

"You sounded good." Evie shifted her weight again as her eyes slid to the empty music deck, stared at it with a soft lack of focus. "I used to sing in college. At boarding school, too, but the material the sisters allowed wasn't particularly exciting." She slid her gaze to Cullen's with another faint smile. "Does this mean we have something in common?"

Cullen returned her smile and gave into the urge, took her hand in one of his and ran his thumb over the back of it. "Not just this," he murmured, and drew her hand up to press a warm kiss into her palm, then folded her fingers around it. "What did you sing?"

She played it cool, he'd give her that, but her voice had a new huskiness when she spoke. "No more hymns once I was in college, I can guarantee that." She smiled, a wry twist of her lips. "A bunch of us from my Elvish studies got a group together, actually; we sang a little of everything." 

Cullen's fingers found her wrist, brushed lightly over the steady pulse there. "You studied Elvish?"

"I needed an elective, and I wanted to stick it in the sisters' faces—not the best reason to choose it, but there it was." She pulled her hand away, then, and curved it over her belly instead. "Our first concert was a class project, actually." She laughed, a soft huff of amusement. "I thought I was going to be sick, standing up there and singing _In Uthenera_ , but I made it through somehow."

Cullen closed his hand around hers, felt the muscles of her abdomen lurch against the backs of his fingers. "I would like to hear you," he said, and her huskiness must've been contagious; his voice held a rough edge he barely recognized. "Would you sing something for me?"

Evie blinked. "I suppose it's only fair, isn't it?" she said, then licked her lips. "It won't be very good—I didn't warm up and it's—"

"It doesn't matter." He released her hand to loosely grip her biceps, then slid his hand to her shoulder and rubbed his thumb over the line of her clavicle, exposed by her loose blouse. "You heard me just now; you don't have anything to worry about."

He'd expected an argument, but instead she inhaled. It wasn't for the old Elven song he'd anticipated, though; the first words from her mouth were bright notes of a song he instantly recognized—one he'd even played earlier.

For a Marcher, she certainly sang _Andraste's Mabari_ with familiarity, and her enthusiastic rendition brought a smile to his lips. As she sang about Andraste's old smelly wardog, he lifted the keyboard cover again and picked up the melody, then added his voice to hers at the start of the next verse. Together, they sang through to the end and, as the last note faded, grinned at each other. He was fairly certain Evie was the first to chuckle, but it wasn't long before they were both laughing as earlier nerves gave way to mirth.

Evie was still giggling when Cullen turned on the bench and caught her wrist to draw her between his spread knees. "That was... nice," he said, and settled his free hand at the curve of her hip. "I haven't played with anyone since before I left for templar training."

"Mm." Evie smiled and rested a hand on his shoulder. "We should do this more often, then." She paused, then, red lips turned down with a faint frown. "Are... are we OK, Cullen?" No doubt she read Cullen's confusion from his face, as she hurried to continue, "You seemed upset earlier."

Cullen felt his cheeks heat and cleared his throat lightly. He opened his mouth to deny it, to tell her it didn't have anything to do with her, but the falsehoods died on his tongue. Instead, he used his hand at her hip to pull her closer until he could lean his forehead against the fullness of her breasts. "That's something I need to work through." He sighed when one of her hands slid into his hair to gently rub his scalp, smiled wryly despite the fact that she wouldn't see it. "I'm more selfish than I'd thought."

The stroke of Evie's fingers paused, before she tugged Cullen's hair until he lifted his head. "Selfish?"

"Selfish." Cullen's smile curled a bit more tightly as he met her eyes. "I want you all to myself."

Evie studied him in silence, her expression worryingly blank, then pulled her hands from Cullen's hair. "Do you," she said, muted and flat. "Cullen, I—"

"Evie," Cullen interrupted. He framed her hips with his hands, traced his thumbs over their lush curves. "I'm sorry. I don't want you to— I don't mean to— I'm not trying to pressure you." He met her eyes, tried to read her thoughts in their shadows. "I want to give you space, but—" The press of her finger to his lips stilled the torrent of words, the pressure light but implacable.

"You want me all to yourself," she said, still quiet, though a hint of wonderment won out over the earlier flatness. "All right. I don't see anyone else here, do you?"

"No," he said, the sound blurred by her lingering finger. When she made no move to remove it, he pursed his lips against it, then flicked his tongue over the tip. It was almost a disappointment when she pulled it away. "It's just us."

"So it is." She stepped away. Cullen reflexively tightened his grip on her hips, but there was no need; she moved back just as quickly, nudging his knees with her own as she straddled his lap. The heat between her thighs against his was almost unbearable, and he struggled to loosen the curl of his fingers. "Suppose we should take advantage of that?"

He could practically feel her lips against his already, taut with her sharp, impish grin. Fighting the urge to match reality to fantasy, he ran his hands up her sides. Her blouse caught on his wrists and skimmed up her torso, and catching on quickly she lifted her arms so that he could sweep the garment up and off in one smooth motion.

Her bra this time was pink lace. It brought out the roses in her skin and did absolutely nothing to mask the stiff peaks of her nipples. As her blouse hit the floor, his hands reversed and smoothed down her sides, angled in over her rib cage until they could rise to cradle her breasts against his palms. The lace rasped slightly against his skin as he twisted his wrists and fanned his fingers over her ribs again, his thumbs left to roll over the nipples outlined by the thin material.

"Cullen," she said, more breath than sound, and arched her back into his touch. He felt powerful, invincible, almost divine; it was he who was drawing those sounds out of her, the tiny tremors and soft gasps. One thumb continued to tease its captive nub, while he slid his other hand around her back, pressed against it and drew her closer until he could bend his neck and wrap his mouth around her other, abandoned nipple.

He couldn't taste her, only the dry sensation of the lace with a faint hint of fabric softener, but it was no deterrent, not when she whimpered and squirmed in his lap, squeezed her thighs around his for leverage as she pressed herself to his mouth. Her hands lifted to cup his cheeks, her fingers danced erratically over the faint stubble roughening his jaw and traced the hollows as he suckled. He learned that judicious application of teeth brought broken moans from her throat and so repeated it, over and over against until she was panting, a mass of quivers over him.

With one last bite, he drew his mouth away, then found her throat and tucked his nose against it. "You're amazing," he murmured as his fingers twitched against her spine. "I've never felt—"

Evie smiled beatifically in the face of Cullen's gasp and finished sliding Cullen's belt open, then yanked it none-too-gently from the belt loops and tossed it in the vague direction of her blouse. "Tell me," she said, soft and sweet and dark and dangerous. "Tell me how amazing I am."

Cullen swallowed thickly, but before he could so much as begin to form words, Evie's fingers had caught the pull at his fly. She toyed briefly with it, tugged it out without opening the zipper, flicked it up and down. He inhaled sharply, intent on— he didn't know what he'd intended, because everything shattered into a rough groan as she slid the zipper down and slid her hand into the gaping opening to curve over the bulge still caught behind his briefs.

He only realized that he'd closed his eyes when he opened them to find her frowning thoughtfully down at the hand in his pants. Her expression was indescribable, even moreso when she caught the elastic at his waist and slid it away, let it tease down his swollen shaft until it stretched beneath his balls. He should have felt ridiculous, still completely dressed but for where his cock flopped out of his pants, but no— It was right, perfect, and nowhere near enough.

Evie explored the length of his cock with one hand, then both; they traced the swollen veins, weighed his balls, circled the base and stroked up with a swift twist of her wrist. He very nearly came off of the bench when she flicked a fingernail against the head, and very nearly cried when her hands were abruptly gone.

"We should do something about this," she breathed against his ear, and he fumbled for meaning until he realized that her hands were at the front of his shirt. She slid each button from its hole with torturous care, let her fingers dip within the widening gap to stroke his chest, his abs. When they were at last all loosed, it was a struggle to release her long enough to let her free him from the shirt; it took a greater application of will than he thought himself capable of to remove his hands from her hips and shake the shirt over his wrists to let it slither, forgotten, to the floor.

Instead of renewing his grip, he slid his fingers into her hair and rubbed his thumbs over the upper curves of her ears. Her eyelids drooped, left nothing but a sliver of blue visible as her lips parted, the tip of her tongue visible where it was caught between her teeth.

He had to taste it.

Struggling against his urge to sink into her mouth, he brushed his lips lightly against hers, a tease of contact that left tingles in its wake. The next pass was a soft sweep of his tongue, barely flicking past her lips to delicately touch the tip of her own. Her lips parted further on a gasp and he surrendered, slanted his mouth over hers and wormed his tongue between her teeth. She met it enthusiastically, gave and took with equal fervor, and throughout it all the most amazing sounds rose from her throat: breathless whimpers, abortive and eager. Each one pulsed through him, vibrated along his tongue straight to his cock, which already ached with the depth of his arousal.

When his thumbs ran along her ears again, her whimpers morphed into a full moan and she _undulated_ , rolled from knees to shoulders in a wave of contact. The torture of her heat pressing against his cock was amplified by the drag of her nipples against his bare chest, the slight scratch of the lace containing them flaying his nerves as effectively as any lash. He tore his mouth away to press his face into her hair, found an earlobe with his teeth and nipped sharply, rewarded by another full-body shudder before her arms shifted to loop around his neck and tightened to hold him in place—as though he had any interest in escaping.

"Evie," he breathed against her ear, more heat than voice, and slid his hands down her back until he could cradle her backside in his palms, feel the tension as the muscles there flexed within his grip. The fabric of her skirt was an annoyance and so he grabbed fistfuls of it, dragged it up until he could get both hands beneath it and play his fingertips over her heated flesh, tease along the line of her panties. He wondered if they were pink lace, too, only to lose the thought a moment later when her nails dragged over his shoulders, hard enough to sting.

"Maker," he growled then, and lifted her, just enough to be able to spin on their awkward perch on the bench. He dropped her on his lap again and ran his hands up her thighs to catch behind her knees, lifted again until she unfolded her legs and shifted them to dangle behind him, left her with her toes skimming the floor and her weight pinning him to the bench. His hands found her cheeks again, held her steady for a bruising kiss that left them both breathless and shuddering, then gently pushed her away, just far enough to be able to see her face, admire her swollen lips and dark eyes, the tautness in her expression that hinted that her hold on control was as tenuous as his.

Silently, he tugged her arms from around his neck and coaxed them back, guided her elbows to rest on the keyboard behind her. The jangle of notes that resulted startled a giggle from her, cut off abruptly when he pressed a sucking kiss against her sternum, another at the dip between her clavicles, another at the pulse point that throbbed beneath her jaw. She'd bear marks the next day, but he was beyond caring, far more concerned with tasting her sweat-dampened skin as she dropped her head back and gasped for air.

Unhooking her bra took far longer than he liked, his fingers clumsy with the lust firing his veins, but he managed it at last. He retrieved her arms one at a time to slide the straps down them, drew each hand to his mouth to place more kisses against each fingertip. When the scrap of lace was finally discarded, he caught her wrists before she could complete her reach for him and pressed them against the keyboard again. The cacophony of octaves of smashed keys filled his ears, but it didn't matter in the slightest, not when he could lean forward and close his mouth again around one of the nipples that rose to meet his tongue.

Evie's breath sobbed from her as he rolled the nub between his lips, plucked it with his teeth, soothed it with his tongue. Her back arched, the line taut as a drawn bow, and though her fingers twitched, occasionally struck staccato notes, she made no move to reach for him again. He hummed his appreciation against her flesh and framed her waist with his hands, stroked his thumb along the band of her skirt before he sent one beneath it to cup between her legs.

Her panties, wet with her arousal, were a shield barely worth mentioning as he pressed a finger against her slit, rubbed through the soft lace until her hips began to move, strove to match his rhythm. He pulled it away then and sat back, slid the damp digit over his own lips, then pressed it past hers. She latched on eagerly, caught his finger between her teeth and laved it with her tongue until he imagined not a trace her her fluids remained on it. His breathing was sharp and stuttering when he finally retrieved it and crushed his mouth over hers.

There was no finesse in the kiss, nothing but heat and want and more, and when they finally rose from it, Cullen found that his hands were under her skirt again, seemingly of their own volition, gripping her butt and hauling her against his aching cock. Her hips rolled against his and he nearly rose off the bench with his eagerness to feel her heat where he wanted it most.

The panties that had been a tease before were cruelty now, and he closed his hands around the fabric at her hip. "Forgive me," he murmured, hot against her jaw, then yanked, tearing the thin fabric with a purl of sound that would haunt his erotic dreams for months. She inhaled sharply and he repeated it at her other hip, then dragged the ruined undergarment away, dropped it to join its forgotten brethren.

Now there was nothing to keep his finger from pressing between her moist folds, nothing to keep it from brushing through the slick to flick against her clit or circle her entrance. The muscles there fluttered under his touch, clenched and released when he slid the tip of his finger within her, and it was a blessing, it was torture, it was an entanglement he would never escape, whether he died tomorrow or lived another thousand years. He leaned forward, closed his teeth on her shoulder as he worked his finger into her, and it was perhaps a good thing he had; she bucked hard enough to nearly unseat herself, then ground on his hand, took as much as he could give. She exhaled shakily when he added a second finger, moaned when he added a third, and sobbed when he slid them all from her. Her expression, when he lifted his head enough to see it, was almost petulant, eased only when he brushed his lips over her forehead, her chin, the tip of her nose, her eyelids.

"No condoms," she said softly, and it took him a moment to parse her words, to extract the meaning from what seemed to be unrelated syllables. Before he'd fully grasped it, she'd moved, pushed away from the keyboard with dissonant notes that seemed to echo far longer than should be possible in his ears. She curled her fingers tightly around his biceps—for leverage, he realized a moment later as she squirmed, a delicious slither that brought his cock against her heat. She gave him a look through her lashes that was nearly as hot as she shifted her hands to his knees. He could feel her thighs tense as her toes found purchase on the floor, and a moment later all thought fled as her hips rolled and his cock slipped between her slick folds.

It wasn't as perfect as spreading her open and losing himself within her, but as she rolled her hips again, found a steady rhythm over him, he found it didn't matter. It was hot and wet and so, so good and he could feel the strength in her lithe thighs at his sides, her fingers as they kneaded his knees, the clutch of her flesh as he got with the program and thrust up against her. Each time the head of his cock bumped over her clit, she whimpered, and the sound made what had been good all but unbearable. He wanted to see it, to watch his cock as it slid between her folds, slicked with a mix of her arousal and his own. He wanted to see how her thighs trembled with the strain, the contrast between their skin—his soft gold to her rosy cream. He wanted to see her come apart, to see his own release mark her, paint his claim across her skin.

Instead, his hands found her backside again and dragged her closer yet, so close there was barely any room between them to move within. He thrust against her once, twice, and it was suddenly enough, too much. The world receded to a spot of white as he came so hard his teeth ached with it, only dimly aware of it when she threw herself forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders and pressed her face against his throat as she shuddered and quaked.

It was a long moment before he realized his throat was wet, and he blinked open eyes he didn't remember closing to find Evie looking back at him, tear tracks marking her cheeks. He touched one lightly, and even that barest brush of contact was enough to tighten his chest and drive the breath from his lungs.

Maker, he loved her.

He kissed the streak, flicked his tongue against her skin to taste the faint salt, then, unable to help himself, kissed her parted lips. She sighed softly into the kiss, chased the contact when he made to pull away, though neither made any move to deepen the light touch. When at last she withdrew, her lips were curved with a smile that left him breathless all over again.

_You're beautiful_ , he meant to say. Or, perhaps, _I love you. I need you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me and I can't imagine my life without you anymore._

Instead, he blurted, "Marry me."

Evie's eyes widened with shock—hardly unexpected, as he'd surprised himself. He closed his eyes and breathed a groan, dropped his forehead against her shoulder. He half-expected her to shove him away, but instead she carded her hands through his hair and chuckled softly.

"No, Cullen," she said gently, and it shouldn't have stung as much as it did—he hadn't realized how serious he was until she turned him down. The stroke of her fingers through his hair soothed the worst of it, though, as did the soft kiss she pressed into it. "But... you can ask me again, later."

He nodded slightly without lifting his head, then reached blindly behind her to catch and lower the keyboard cover. "We should probably go," he said, though he made no move to displace her, and she made no move to remove herself. "It's getting late."

"It is," she agreed, and pressed another kiss into his hair. "I'll let you walk me home." Another kiss, followed by the tickle of her fingers along his jaw. "You could come in, have some coffee. Watch a movie. Maybe stay the night; I'd hate for you to get lost, trying to find your way back in the dark."

Warmth flooded him. He wrapped his arms around Evie's waist, squeezed tightly. "You don't drink coffee," he said, then turned his head to kiss Evie's throat. "What movie did you have in mind?"

"Something classic," she said, and stroked her hand over his shoulder, pressed just hard enough to remind him of the scratches there and send a shudder through his exhausted body. "Maybe something from Isabela the Pirate Queen."

Cullen laughed and lifted his head at last, kissed the playful lift at the corner of her mouth. "I'm never going to live that down, am I."

It wasn't a question, and she only smiled before she finally eased herself from his lap. They should have looked silly—her in nothing but a rumpled skirt and flats, him with his dick still hanging out of his pants—but he wanted to burn the image into his memory because, silly or otherwise, this was what _happy_ looked like, in a way that he'd never experienced before. As he tucked himself back into his briefs and zipped his fly, as he retrieved his shirt and shrugged it on, left it open and slung his belt over his shoulder, watched Evie as she slid her blouse back on and folded her bra and ruined panties over her arm, all he could think was that this was exactly what he'd never known he wanted, exactly what he'd never known he needed, and that it was the kind of happy he could get used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first version of this chapter was angst. Angst, angst, angst. A heaping helping of angst with a side of angst, topped with an angst reduction. It didn't fit the rest of the story, so I scrapped the bulk of the angst... and added smut instead, because it's damned fun to write.
> 
> Also: whoops, my finger slipped and I commissioned this from [lolbatty](http://lolbatty.tumblr.com/) (posted with permission):
> 
> 10/10 would commission again  
> (Seriously, batty was great to work with and I'm delighted with the result. [Commission Info](http://lolbatty.tumblr.com/post/128882771132) | [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/lolbatty)) 

**Author's Note:**

> This is perhaps the most gratuitous thing I've written since I was a wee black puppy. I'm not writing it for style or pacing or coherency; I'm writing it because it's self-serving fun. If someone else enjoys it, too, awesome.


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